So Kevin and I are hanging out on the deck while he has a cigarette, and we’re discussing breast reductions, because a buddy of mine is planning to get one, and somehow we got around to nipples, and nipple piercings (Kevin has both of his pierced, which makes his church’s pool parties a source of endless amusement for yours truly.) He was extolling the virtues of the nipple piercing in general, and somehow…
URSULA: Yeah, sure. Hey, I’ll pierce my nipples if you quit smoking…
KEVIN: (unexpectedly speculative look)
URSULA: Um. Wait. Hang on. I don’t think I agree to that.
KEVIN: I have two packs left…
KEVIN: (holding up cigarette) Now, if you wanted to get a hood piercing, I’d quit right now.
URSULA: Not. Going. To. Happen.
KEVIN: …yeah, I figured.
*cough* One learns something new about one’s partner’s tastes every day…Well, love or not, I suspect that pierced nipples may be rather more than I wish to deal with, mind you, particularly given that dude oughta quit smoking ANYWAY and all, but…well, that’s more serious thought than I’ve given the topic in…well…ever.
On the subject of clittoral piercings and their ilk, I recall the words of a dear friend, who said "Look. I have no problem going to my gynecologist and all, but fuck if I’m spreading my legs for a guy I just saw out in the parking lot, smoking a cigarette on the bumper of a pick-up truck." I have no ability to improve upon this observation. Also, I don’t actually care if it leads to mind-blowing orgasms. I have HAD mind-blowing orgasms, and y’know, I’m pretty sure there’s an upper limit on the things. My mind is only so blowable. I do not believe there is a qualitative level I’m missing, which would mean all we’d be looking at is reduced time-to-orgasm, to which I say–look, this is sex, not the hundred meter dash.
Those members of my readership with pierced whatsits, feel free to chime in with endorsements/horror stories/chickens.